dance
when it's time
to dance in the snow

there were nights
when the crickets
made symphonies
and nights when the leaves
whispered poetry
as they sailed
to their death

but look
how the streetlight
makes falling stars
of every flake

and before the feet
a fresh canvass
where the language
of movement
is paint

and destiny is a thing
that will be hidden
by other tracks
and one day melt away

but the dance
will dance itself
far from that place
before it is muddied
and loses the quality 

of the crisp in the soft

and all that will matter
of the moment
the sky snowed stars
was how we danced
for the contribution it made
to where the dance
is danced in the now